


Sharp and Sheer

by kiichu



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice, Irony, Magic, On Hiatus, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiichu/pseuds/kiichu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa's magic pushed Hans backwards, away from Anna, but it also pierced the most vital of places on him. With no ability to love, or be loved, Hans feels the effects of the curse, slowly freezing to death in the middle of summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Strange. Everything was so  _quiet_.

His heart pounded against his ribcage, the thumping being the only guidance that pushed him on to do the unthinkable to the Queen crouched defenseless in front of him. That's right, he was alive – alive, unlike Anna, who had perished ( _accidentally_ ) in the cold room, alone. He took a deep breath, nearly in spite of those who could not any longer (as if a  _prince_  like himself was capable of such a thing), and readied the weapon clutched in his hand.

Everything he desired – his throne, his kingdom, his happily-ever-after – was right in front of him, blocked by one weakened and helpless woman. But she wasn't a woman, was she? She was a monster, a horrible  _beast_  who had murdered her own sister. The more he repeated it to himself, the more Hans believed it in his heart to be the truth.  _Elsa_  was wicked, and he was not.  _Elsa_  had brought Anna's demise – not him.

He was the hero in this story.

Fingers trembling only slightly (from the cold, obviously, not  _nerves_ ) around the hilt of the sword, the prince took quiet steps towards the Queen. She hadn't moved, stilled in a weeping position as an expression of her grief.

How such a woman could possibly still care for the girl she'd shut out all her life was beyond him. Then again, things like love and affection had never been his expertise; nearly every moment he'd dealt in it had been faked, after all. But if she wanted to cry over her naïve little sister, then so be it – it only made his job that much easier.

Quickly, he ran through the possibilities of the strike in his head. A thrust through the heart would be effective, but could he get a good angle from his position? He was facing her back, after all, so shouldn't a simple backstab be enough? Or perhaps he could slit her throat? That would ensure her powers – however clearly broken through because of the news he'd delivered – could not have a chance to react and protect her from harm. He'd seen her powers' deadly capabilities firsthand, up in her mountainside castle when she had nearly cut the lives of the Duke of Weselton's two guards short. He'd managed to intervene – after all, those two idiots dying wasn't in his carefully calculated plans, and he needed as many idiot allies as he could manage to claim – but it had shown him the degree of violence Elsa was capable of when she was afraid.

Perhaps just a simple chop would do. He could slice her head off, but that would be difficult to explain.  _'Oh, I do apologize for returning with the Queen's head detached from her body. She had attacked me, you see, and I was_ defendingmyself _. Yes, as an act of_ self-defense _, my blade chopped straight through her neck. It is with a heavy heart that I present you her head as a trophy...'_

He could not see that working out very well, despite his heightened abilities to lie and charm nearly everyone around him into thinking he was a heroic prince.

Chuckling to himself, he decided that it didn't matter how he did it (barring decapitation), so long as it was done. The lack of blizzard to cover everything, including his attack on the Queen, truly was inconvenient, but he could surely cover it up. She was known as a monster, after all, and he had won the hearts of many (if not all) of the Dignitaries of the land. Her death would be mourned, surely, but his courageous act would be celebrated. Rewarded.

He'd be the king he'd always wanted to be.

With a small smile, Hans once more took to gripping the weapon's base, his eyes glued to the broken figure mere feet away. His future, his chance, was mere feet away. Mere minutes, depending on how quick he made the death.

A stab through the back it was, then.

His grin only grew wider, emerald eyes ablaze with ambitious desire as he readied his sword. After counting to three, he thrust the blade through the air, preparing it to cease swinging through air and hit flesh.

"No!  _ **Elsa**_!"

He'd expected the tingle of his weapon hitting flesh so much that he had barely noticed the other woman's pitiful, hoarse cry echoing through the otherwise silent ice kingdom. It was only when the sword connected with something other than the Queen's back did his eyes widen and his senses alert him to the wrongness of the situation. This wasn't supposed to happen! Who got in the way?

Snapping back to reality, the prince focused on the image of Anna, a solid sheet of blue ice rapidly covering her form. With her arm outstretched, she tried to block the blade from hitting her sister, the ice hardening the hand pointed towards Hans. She stood there, a mere statue now, acting as a valiant protector of the one she loved most. When the sword collided with her (her,  _Anna_ , who was supposed to be  _dead_ , much like the Queen he was about to kill), it cracked in half, shards of steel crumbling down into the snow.

It was then that a sharp force flung him backwards, a sudden shot of cold sniping at his chest, face, limbs –  _everywhere_. Though he was appropriately dressed for the weather, a chill throbbed through his veins, making his whole form turn numb as the push of the magic turned to a shove, forcing his body to collide with the ground behind him. As his head hit the ice, his chattering teeth caused him to bite his tongue, the coppery taste of blood becoming the only thing he could focus on.

And, as it was, it was also the only sensation he was aware of. Everything else had gone completely numb. Nothing hurt, and that was concerning. He'd been pushed backwards, smacked his head against the ice, and bit his tongue. Surely he should be feeling something?

But no, there was nothing – merely the complete and utter nothingness that washed over his body, stretching to every last inch of him.

Blackness dotted his vision, and he had to close his eyes, as if it somehow  _helped_  his plight. It didn't do a damn thing in actuality; he was still freezing, still unfeeling, and still was reduced to becoming just another lump on the icy ground.

Elsa and her newly frozen sister were nearby, he knew, as he couldn't have been pushed that far away. They were most likely within a few feet of his presence – yet she they everything else appeared to be silent. Why wasn't Elsa saying a word? Her sister had just died – this time for real – and she had nothing at all to say? Not even a cry of remorse? Or was it simply that Hans had lost the ability to hear for the time being? That was quite a good possibility, as the rest of his senses appeared to be seized by the frost.

Hans felt as though he was frozen to that very spot on the ice, solid and unmoving and  _dead_. Yet, he knew very well that he was alive by choice signs; the rhythm of the organ keeping him alive pounding against his chest and the sound of the air entering and leaving his lungs told him as much, but it was still difficult to tell in the icy wasteland Arendelle had been reduced to. The air was thin, the lush green that had once decorated the town becoming shades of dull gray and white. Hans could see his hurried breath leaving him, bringing about the illusion that it was truly winter – that he, too, was a part of this tundra.

And indeed, the ice brought the illusion of  _everything_  – not just the town's buildings and nature, but the humans that interacted, as well – being reduced to a solid block of ice. Hans was no exception, lying in the snow, doomed to be covered by the blizzard until he was merely another chunk of ice, frozen solid and forgotten. Even if this winter ever stopped, he'd still have to be dug out through meters of snow. By then, his  _corpse_  would need to be identified.

Yet, this frozen wasteland was alive. Hans knew it; he could feel it underneath the quiet and stillness. He simply could not recognize what was making it or why it was alive, as he was more concerned about the way his limbs were not moving as he commanded them to.

He had been so close – so, so close to his dream that he nearly felt the crown's weight on his head, the warm blood of the Queen splattering against his skin. Everything he'd ever wanted was right in front of him, quite literally, and yet...

Yet he had failed. Why?

His plan had been carefully laid out, leaving no room for error. The original plan was merely to woo Elsa (or Anna, as it had turned out) and kill one sister to ensure his rise to power. However, the rest of his act had been improvised, as the revealing of Elsa's powers created a diversion from his unblessed engagement to Anna, and he stopped protesting when the younger sister wanted to go out, alone, in the cold to seek the Queen. Why would he protest? She could get herself killed, and that would be that. It was so simple, and everything laid itself out perfectly in front of him. After Anna's 'death,' he had played the part of the grieving prince well, and changed how the situation was seen by those who mattered.

The Dignitaries saw it as a hero executing a dangerous sorceress, not a traitor murdering a young woman. It had been perfect.

Where did he go wrong?

Perhaps, he thought sluggishly as his mind continued to fade away from reality, if he had simply killed Anna mercifully instead of leaving her to freeze to death in the room, he wouldn't be in this position. He'd always been sure to cover his tracks, and yet he hadn't  _ensured_  her death. Somehow, she had gotten out and made her way to the frozen body of water.

Somehow, she had made it in time to protect her sister, at the cost of her own life.

The wrong sister died in the end, and Hans had  _failed_.

He'd be left to die here, a death undeserving of a  _prince_.

And a wonderfully brilliant one, at that.

* * *

 

The first face the ginger-haired girl recognized once the numbness faded was her sister's. Elsa. Elsa was here, she was mere inches away, with a red rim to her eyes. Her beautiful older sister, the Queen no less, had been crying? For  _her_?

Though seeming confident when she first left Arendelle in search of Elsa, Anna's true doubts had still been churning through her mind and heart, clouding how she really saw her sister. She tried as hard as she could to focus on the times they'd played together as children, but the image of a closed door was blocking everything else. That door had been her enemy so many years, preventing her from seeing the one who'd shut her out, so it was only natural that it had been the thing to bar her from happy memories.

But all that seemed to melt away – all the doubts, the uncertainty, and the worries about the legitimacy of Elsa's care towards her – when Anna gazed at her sister. She had been such a refined queen during the party, and even after her powers had been revealed, had a certain air of royalty about her. Anna herself lacked that sort of presence, but Elsa had it down naturally. It made the younger just a bit jealous of how proper manners came to her so quickly, but it didn't matter now.

Elsa was older, so she'd been the one to rule. It was simple, quick, and easy – Anna herself couldn't argue, and truth be told, it didn't bother her much. Even in the way they walked and spoke, Anna and Elsa were clearly two completely different people with two completely different paths in life. Elsa was destined for the throne, while Anna simply wanted to be acknowledged and loved.

She was much too clumsy and awkward to be queen, and besides, "Queen Anna" just sounded strange. If she had her sister's love, and found true love in Kristoff or another man in the future, that was all that mattered.

The lust for a reign could be a deadly one, as Anna had nearly seen. Hans, in his desperate attempt to claim his own kingdom after not being able to properly acquire one in his home, had been ready to strike Elsa. The sword had been raised, the man's face surely twisted into a cruel smirk, and like a guillotine, had been on its way down when Anna had stepped in between.

As cold and terrified as she'd been, the redhead managed to stumble over and reach out, protecting her sister from harm and willing to die in her place. But the curse had other plans, as the ice that had been dormant inside her ever since she'd been struck in the heart rapidly covered her body, freezing her in a protective stance.

And somehow, she had thawed out. The ice melted from her chest outwards, dissolving as quickly as it had spread over her. When her face was free, she had set her blue eyes on her sister's disheveled frame, putting the puzzle pieces together slowly. Elsa had murmured her name in disbelief and hugged her instantly, prompting her to believe that her sister's curse had finally tamed itself. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Elsa had tamed it herself.

"An act of true love..." a quiet voice gasped from nearby – a voice she recognized as Olaf's, the snowman who her sister had somehow brought to life with her magic. Wait – Olaf? When did he get here? Swinging her head around, the princess found Kristoff and Sven standing nearby.

But it wasn't cold anymore. That was one thing that dawned on her as soon as her sister's warm arms left her.

"Love... of  _course_..."

Something seemed to dawn on Elsa, for once those murmurs left her lips, her hands lifted towards the sky. Slowly, the icy surroundings melted away, much like how Anna's frozen prison had dissolved. The tundra was fading away, bringing back summer elements in its place; flowers bloomed once more, the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, and a warm breeze of air gusted through them.

Thankfully, their group had been on top of a ship, for once the icy sheet covering the ground melted, the ship once more bobbed freely in the water, churning and making Anna a bit dizzy (she'd never been on a boat, after all, not to mention a boat had caused her parents' deaths). She had to lean on Elsa so she didn't fall or trip, holding her sister's hand – her  _bare_  hand, distinctly lacking in a glove this time – and trying to keep her balance.

"Wow..." she breathed, giggling a bit at how soft her sister's skin was. She wasn't expecting it to feel like this, especially for the hand of a wielder of ice.

Elsa raised an eyebrow, her own lips curled into a smirk. "Anna, what's so funny?" she asked, her tone playful with more than just a hint of relief to it.

The princess slowly raised their conjoined hands, studying the way their fingers were locked together; in a way, it symbolized their relationship now: unbreakable and sealed. Anna's act of true love, and Elsa's love in the form of grief afterward, had began the healing process.

They would be fine.

"We're touching, yet you're not freezing me or anything around you," she whispered, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. They were sisters through and through; why had Anna doubted her to begin with? There was a reason she had shut Anna out, after all; the younger had been too naïve at the time to understand.

So Elsa  _had_  managed to learn to control her powers, after all; Anna smiled as the warmth returned to Arendelle (and her own heart, as well), pleased noises of its citizens sounding from the main part of town. Children were laughing. Adults were sighing in relief. Everything was returning to how it was.

It was strange – everything was back to normal, and yet so different. Elsa was holding her hand, and had actually hugged her – she wasn't shutting her out any longer. They were closer now than they'd ever been, even as children. Kristoff and Sven and Olaf were here, as well; they were  _friends_ , something Anna had never truly had.

But someone else was here, too: Hans.

She had nearly forgotten about Mr. I-Want-the-Throne in her frozen state and subsequent thawing out, and she felt disgusted with herself for almost doing so. How could she possibly forget Hans, the wicked man who had nearly taken not only her life, but her sister's, as well? A ruthless  _monster_  who wanted the throne Elsa had been rightfully born to take. He'd managed to charm Anna, as she was naïve, and the rest of the officials who had come to Arendelle, as well.

Where was the snake? Anna tracked her gaze around the ship, eventually finding the prince's figure lying in the corner, motionless. Turning back to the Queen, she asked, "Elsa, what about him? What are we going to do?" She didn't know why he was unconscious, but she guessed it had to do with the force of Elsa's powers. It just made things easier, she supposed.

Before she could respond, Kristoff piped in with an offer: "Sven could probably kick him off the boat." In mischievous agreement, the reindeer gave a snort and butted his head against the blond's cheek. "You know how strong his legs are."

Anna chuckled; as Olaf had pointed out, Kristoff had travelled on Sven's back across the tundra to reach her, riding strongly as a "valiant and pungent reindeer king". The deer was strong and powerful, and could surely kick Hans off the boat. It was a particularly humorous idea, Anna had to admit.

"I definitely don't doubt it, but I don't know if that would be appropriate..." the princess trailed off, giving Kristoff a shy smile. She didn't even have time to contemplate how she felt about him before; though she had been searching for him in the blizzard, her act of true love had ultimately been with her sister, in the form of her sacrifice.

"Appropriate? I think it'd be very appropriate, given what he did-!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Anna interrupted, placing her palm gently on his chest, as if to calm him down. Her tone was still playful, but had an air of authority about it as she spoke of her sister: "Let the Queen decide his fate." With that, she turned to Elsa, giving her an expectant glance.

With a heavy sigh, the older woman replied, "Anna, this is difficult to determine... But I suppose it is part of my duty, isn't it?" The faintest of smiles ghosting over her face before fading back to a frown. "I will have him arrested for his crimes, and taken back to the Southern Isles. Anna, you mentioned he had several older brothers, correct?"

"Twelve," Anna interrupted, cracking a sheepish grin.

"Yes, twelve. I suspect his brothers will know what to do with him, and will select a suitable punishment. I know they'd be able to come up with something – better than anything I could." Anna wondered if Elsa would have the heart to put Hans to death; then again, that wasn't exactly something the princess wanted to happen, either (even to  _him_ ).

With a nod, Anna turned back to glance down at the unconscious man. After marching up to his corner of the ship, she bent down to try to wake him up. Yes, he'd probably be less compliant awake, but he could walk himself back that way. She placed her hand over his cheek, preparing to slap him, but stopped short once her fingers brushed his skin.

She drew back, green eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. Her gaze fell on Hans once more before turning to her sister and friends.

"H-he... h-h... he..." The words wouldn't come to her, melting away on her tongue like the snowflakes that had just been replaced by sunlight. She tried to touch Hans once more, to lift his still figure and maybe get him over to Sven (since he certainly wasn't walking as he was now), but it was no use. He wasn't going to budge.

Elsa must have noticed her immediate panic, and crouched next to her, placing a slender hand on the younger's shoulder.

"Anna? Anna, what is it? What's wrong?"

It was as if everything really was frozen again. Anna couldn't get the words out; she just couldn't speak properly with an odd sort of fear and sickness spreading through her. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself in a huddling position as she lowered her head.

She never wished for...  _this_  to happen.

"Anna...?" Olaf's concerned voice sounded next to her, his stick hand also patting at her back.

"I-it's... it's Hans, he... h-he..." She tried so hard to get the words out, to reveal what she had found so they could all think of what to do next, as a team, but Kristoff's larger figure appeared next to her before she could do anything. His hand reached out to briefly touch Hans's neck, and she was suddenly very relieved he was there to say it so she did not have to.

With a grim expression, the blond turned to Elsa to give her the news.

"He's ice cold."

Anna couldn't even nod in confirmation before she noticed the defining – and ultimately damning – streak of white settling into Hans's auburn locks.


	2. Chapter 2

The blackness faded in and out like an echo in an ice cavern. In and out, out and in, skirting around consciousness as though he were skating on ice. At one point, he swore he was ready to open his eyes, to see what was happening around him and demand someone tell him what was going on _now_ , but that feeling faded mere seconds after, dragging him back down. 

It was frustrating, really, but also strangely comforting. Something told him that this was okay for now, that sleeping was better than whatever he would encounter when he woke. If he woke. 

Was he dying? Through the haze, one thing did register: it was cold. So, unbearably cold; he didn't remember much of what happened, but he did recall ice and snow being a part of it. Between not being able to move or feel anything, and the cold, Hans could only conclude that he was frozen, or at least close to being so. And that didn't seem right at all – why would he be freezing to death? But he appeared to be, and nothing was coming back to him regarding _why_.

 _Why_ was this happening?

Voices surrounded him, though most were little more than garbled words and just plain noise. It was a filter, something for him to focus on besides the numbing sensation that still plagued him in his half-conscious state. They sounded as loud as a trumpet in his ear one moment, and then died down to a hushed whisper the next. In, and out, again and again, until he knew nothing but the voices.

Only about half of the words reached him, and the meaning behind them was lost on him.

“ _...cold...”_

“ _...fault...”_

“ _...hurt him...”_

“ _What is... What can... help...”_  

This was unacceptable. Even like this, Hans wanted to wake up. Despite the little voice niggling in the back of his mind telling him that it was okay to stay asleep, he longed to defy it or stand up or fight or _open his goddamn eyes_. Just a crack would do, to figure out what was going on around him – and to find out who was speaking. He needed something, _anything_ to bring back reality and familiarity. 

In the event he _was_ dying, they owed him that. It was only fair.

* * *

 

Anna stood, frozen to the spot on the ship (thankfully not _literally_ anymore), glancing from Hans's still form to her friends, and back again to him. Kristoff had hauled him away from his corner and placed him a bit closer to the group, so that everyone could assess the situation. They all looked down at him, watching his teeth begin to chatter and his breath leave him in puffs of warm, visible air. As both Kristoff and Anna had felt, his skin was freezing to the touch, and a pale flush veiled over him. The way he attempted to huddle into himself, even while unconscious, was something that made Anna's heart ache. 

She couldn't help it. He was a terrible man, but she didn't like seeing suffering of any kind. She removed her coat and placed it over him, shooting an offhanded glance at Kristoff as if to say, _No comments about this._

Luckily, he kept his thoughts to himself and merely stared at their charge, unsure as the rest of them on what to do now. “So... he was struck by Elsa's magic?” the man mused, crossing his arms and pursing his lips in thought.

“...Y-yeah, it looks like it,” Anna replied quietly, lowering her gaze. “I didn't... get to see, but maybe it was when I was frozen?” She looked at her sister, who simply nodded.

Up until now, Anna hadn't been able to look at Elsa closely, but she finally noticed the way her sister's legs and hands were trembling, an apprehensive gleam to her eyes and worry etched into her features.

“That's exactly what happened,” the queen mused, shaking her head and staring down at her bare palms. Almost bitterly, she mumbled, “I can't believe I hurt someone with it _again_...” 

“It's not your fault!” The redhead protested, stomping her foot down for emphasis. “Not at all! He tried to _kill_ you!” 

Elsa's gazed flashed upwards once more, a slight glare directed at her sister. “I know that, Anna! But... but none of this would have _happened_ if I hadn't hurt _you_...”

Quietly, Anna placed a mittened hand over her sister's shoulder. “Elsa...” Her tone softened as she looked into her sister's beautiful frosty blue eyes. Elsa had always seemed composed – distant, yet stable and one with her emotions. Even when she was shutting her out, Anna never doubted her sister was completely in control of what she was feeling. “Conceal, don't feel,” as she had overheard her parents instructing a young Elsa before. 

“It's my fault. I... I hurt him.”

“He kinda had it coming,” Kristoff piped in, crossing his arms. “I mean, I wanted to put him on a sled and accidentally set fire to it when I realized what he had done to Anna.” He flashed a smirk to the redhead, clearly amused by the memory of the referenced event they had gone through together.

Anna wasn't in the mood for jokes, however. She shook her head, taking Elsa's hands in hers; besides getting her point emphasized, it also was to show her sister that she wasn't afraid of being frozen anymore. She was no longer afraid of the Queen's ice magic at all.

“Elsa... listen to me. I... I know you. I know you'd never hurt someone on purpose, unless you were defending yourself. And that's what this was – defending yourself and me from Hans.” Her fingers laced with her older sister's, and Anna's lips curled into a small smile. “It's not your fault. We'll figure this out.”

The Queen frowned, her expression still so saddened, but ultimately nodded without another word.

“Hey!” Olaf interrupted the tender moment, still sporting his silly grin and poking at the unconscious man with one of his stick hands. The snowman had been ridiculously optimistic in all situations so far, so it was only expected that he'd apply that same sort of attitude to this occurrence, as well. 

“Why're we so gloomy? This is okay! It's the same deal as Anna, right?” he asked, his buck-toothed smile attempting to shine their their grim situation.

He did a little hop, the small flurry cloud Elsa had conjured up for him bouncing with him. “Anna, Elsa, don't worry! The solution is simple! It's... well, you know...” His voice lowered and he placed his hands behind his back bashfully, sounding out the syllables slowly to emphasize them.

“An act of _true love_ will save him! It's so simple, even a baby snowman could think of it!” A pause. “Wait – since I was born, like... a week ago, am I a baby snowman? Even _I_ could think of it!”

“Olaf...” Anna mumbled, shaking her head. He was starting to ramble, and that just wasn't appropriate, given the situation.

He shook his head, tiny flakes of snow falling from him. “Anna, even _I_ know that true love is the source of all happiness and _ohhhh_ maybe he just needs a _warm hug_! I can't give him one since I'm made of snow but one of you may be able to save him with a true love act in the form or perhaps _shape_ of a hug...”

“ _ **Olaf**_!” 

Elsa's voice rang out, a pang of guilt and slight frustration echoing in her tone. The little snowman recoiled, his eyes a bit hurt by her outburst. She was not angry at him, Anna knew, but merely stressed by the situation as a whole. It was quite the conundrum, after all.

“I'm sorry, Olaf, I just...” Elsa trailed off, shaking her head. The snowman patted her leg, rubbing up against it as an attempt of comfort.

“Heeey, it's okay, Elsa. We can fix this!”

Anna nodded, once more placing her hands in her sister's. “He's right. We can do this – _together_. Just like everything else from now on, we'll fix it _together_.” She gave an optimistic smile for Elsa, trying to be as positive as possible (even if they were dealing with the most unpleasant person to her at the moment). 

The Queen nodded somberly, her gaze drifting down to Hans once more. “I will need...” She cast a glance at Kristoff thoughtfully.

Anna blinked. “What is it? What will you need?”

“...your... friend.” The redhead's face flushed despite herself; she still hadn't quite figured out what Kristoff meant to her, but it was clear that there was something blooming between them. Kristoff echoed her expression with a blush of his own. 

Elsa continued. “I will need him to have his reindeer carry this man back to the palace. We'll need to get him inside as soon as possible, and keep him warm.”

The blond nodded, patting his reindeer companion's chest and pointing to the unconscious prince. “Well... you heard the Queen, Sven. Pick up the jerk and let's go.”

* * *

 

Elsa knew that being a queen meant making tough decisions. 

She'd always known this, ever since she was very small. Her parents had placed the responsibility on her shoulders, the King and Queen choosing her, their firstborn daughter, to pass on their legacy. She was to give up her name as princess and become Queen of Arendelle when she was ready, taking the throne and the maturity that came with it.

Of course, her parents' death had sped up the whole process, forcing her to step up to take reign at age twenty-one, the minimum requirement for such a position. Usually, Queens and Kings didn't go through coronation until at least their late twenties, but what else could Elsa do? With her parents dead and a whole town in need of her for three years until she was of legal age, she _had_ to do it. There was no choice – but there never had _been_ a choice in any of it, anyway. 

As a child, before the _incident_ , she had often dreamt about what it meant to be Queen. She imagined herself decorating the streets with ice, amazing the citizens as she performed tricks and brought a refreshing cold when the summers became too hot. Like Anna's enthrallment with her magic, Elsa would dazzle the people of Arendelle. She'd be welcomed as Queen, respected, and loved by all.

Best of all, this wonderful gift she was given would be regarded as just that – a blessing, something to be praised and respected, rather than outcasted. Welcomed, not judged. Loved, not feared.

Unfortunately, and as most childhood dreams go, things did not happen in that manner. Quite the opposite, really; Elsa was treated as a monster and exiled herself to the mountains, setting off a near-eternal winter that plagued her home of all places. 

Just like she had when they were children, Elsa had _hurt_ Anna. She'd struck her heart, froze it and nearly killed her in the process. If not for her act of true love – the truest, purest bond sisters could have – Elsa would have been responsible for the murder of her little sister. 

The thought made her colder than anything she could produce.

But the fact remained that while things nearly ended in disaster, and while the the curtain nearly closed on the tragic tale of the Arendelle sisters, they and it _didn't_. For once in Elsa's life, things turned out okay in the end. No, not just okay – _satisfying_.

Her sister was alive and Elsa was able to touch her without hurting her, without freezing any inch of her skin; it was an amazing, relieving feeling to do what she could never do before. Her hands had to be hidden from the world for so long ( _conceal, don't feel_ ), it felt nice to finally be able to touch with her bare skin. Anna's coat was fuzzy – probably sheep wool. Her skin was warm and soft, despite just melting from a state of ice. Perhaps it was Elsa's warped senses due to being afraid of touch for so long, but nothing felt quite as nice. Nothing could compare to the rush of positive energy she felt during that moment, when all she felt was the loving embrace of a loving sister who had been willing to give her life for Elsa.

Honestly, who could argue with that? Even if the town hated and ostracized her, she had Anna – and perhaps more. The man with Anna would surely follow, wouldn't he? Perhaps... Not to mention Olaf. The snowman would definitely tag along with the sisters if they needed to leave.

It wasn't as if Elsa would make Anna leave with her, anyway; it was merely hypothetical. If Arendelle did still fear and hate her, the Queen would do what she was obligated to do, and return to her isolation. After all, if they couldn't accept her powers, it wouldn't be a life worth living.

_Let it go..._

As it turned out, the town welcomed her back after seeing Anna's sacrifice. It was clear how much the sisters loved each other, and also proved that Elsa's powers could heal and thaw out, just as they had caused chaos. The Queen was more than happy – and _relieved_ – to take her throne again, and was forever grateful Arendelle had been supportive and responsive to her remorse at hurting Anna.

However, while it was great she'd been allowed to return without any problems, one problem arose by itself, in the form of a very cruel man. Before she could realize it, the responsibility of a life was placed on Elsa's shoulders. But it wasn't just any life; no, it was the life of one who had purposefully deceived her and her sister, and intended to kill them both (and nearly succeeded). Elsa wasn't quite sure what she could do for Hans, nor if she truly _wanted_ to deep in her heart. She wondered if this thought process – that perhaps, in some regards, this was a just punishment for someone like him – would turn her into the monster she'd always worried she was. This brought about more worrying, which only reminded her of the days of the past, where her parents didn't allow her to show an inch of her powers to anyone, in order to protect them.

Those days were over, and so was that fear.

So she would have to make a decision, for the good of everyone, on what to do with Hans. When she'd ordered the younger man in their group to place him on the reindeer and bring him back to the castle, Anna had protested immediately.

“But Elsa! He's - He tried to _kill us_!”

“I know that, Anna! But...” She paused, closing her eyes bitterly. “But you know what this is. You know what's going to happen just as I do, and w-... we can figure out what to do with him inside, where we'll have the guards and castle staff to help us. I'm only one person. I can't...” Her gaze wrenched away from her sister for a moment. “I can't fix everything. I've just started learning how not to _destroy_.” 

But, all things considered, that hadn't _mattered_ , had it? Because in the end, Elsa still hurt someone with her magic. She had 'let it go,' but it had still backfired. She was still _responsible_ for this, and was now _responsible_ , as Queen, for Hans's fate. 

As they rushed the prince back to the castle, bundling him with all sorts of coats and blankets and attempting to keep his cold skin was freezing over just yet, Elsa couldn't ignore the shadow of utter _guilt_ looming over her.


	3. Chapter 3

“But Kristoff...”

“No, Anna!”

“Why?”

“I told you, it's pointless!”

“But maybe there's-”

“ _No_.”

Just the sheer look on the redhead's freckled face told Kristoff he wouldn't be winning this argument. His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms and huffed, glaring at the girl with an annoyed, defiant look. She was speaking irrationally, and both of them knew it.

Her current 'solution' for Hans (as she called it) was for the blond to hike back up the mountains, back home to the trolls, and ask Grand Pabbie for assistance on how to heal the prince. It was just pointless, really; they'd done the exact same thing when Anna was struck, and the remedy would be the same: an act of true love. Kristoff knew it, Anna knew it, Elsa knew it – hell, even _Olaf_ knew it.

'True love,' however, wasn't in Hans's favor. Kristoff knew the prince was a real... _unpleasant_ guy, and though he wasn't quite sure the extent of his crimes, he figured that such an act may be impossible for someone like him. His heart was frozen, figuratively and physically now. There was little they could do, save for make him comfortable as he slowly became a frozen statue.

Honestly, it wasn't like Kristoff wanted Hans to die, but he wasn't weeping over the circumstances, either. He had spent enough time in the mountains to feel alienated from human beings and society in general, so he never really understood the appeal of a kingdom. He hadn't lived through Hans's life, though, so he couldn't say he wouldn't do the same if he was.

As if living with mythical creatures and talking to a reindeer like he was his actual brother all his life wasn't enough, Kristoff had a bit of an obsession with ice and the ice-delivering business. So, yes, to say he was 'normal' or could fit into 'normal' civilization with ease was a laugh.

It also hardened his compassion for people like Hans – people who had everything and still wanted _more_. The prince had his kingdom, and while he wouldn't be able to rule it, he had the luxuries that came with it. To the blond, the perks that came with being a prince would have been enough. The money, the power, the royalty, the fanciness... what more could Hans want? He was treated with the utmost respect, loved by all... Why ruin that all for his ambition?

To make matters worse, he had tried to kill Anna. Kristoff cared about that girl so damn much, for some puzzling reason (he couldn't place why or when it had happened, but it did), and just the thought of Hans getting anywhere close to her just angered him.

Truthfully, a small part of Kristoff blamed himself for what happened. If he hadn't left Anna in Hans's hands, she wouldn't have nearly lost her life. He'd left her when she truly needed him, and it hadn't even been him to save her in the end.

“Anna...” He placed his hands on her tinier shoulders, their eyes meeting. “Please, believe me. Talking to Pabbie won't work. We both know what needs to save him.”

“But Kristoff... _You_ know that won't...”

“I know.” Closing his eyes briefly, the blond let out a long, tired sigh, the weight of his shoulders not alleviated in the slightest by the action. “I _know_ , Anna.”

He knew _exactly_ what would happen to Hans.

And what was frightening him the most, perhaps, was that Kristoff felt as though he deserved it to some extent. But Anna – such a sweet, naïve princess – had taken pity on the dark prince, and with her sister, had issued the three of them being the only ones who could decide Hans's fate. The servants could help keep him warm and tend to his needs, but ultimately, what happened to Hans was Elsa, Kristoff, and Anna's business.

To be honest, though, the blond really didn't want a part in it. He had no place to reign over anyone's life, and his feelings for Anna certainly clouded his judgment. Hans had left her to die in that lonely room, with no heat and simply the cold to comfort her before it ultimately killed her. Why did she – or anyone – owe him anything more than what he had done?

But Kristoff knew Anna wasn't like that – Anna would have mercy, she'd make sure he'd heal, if he could. It wasn't as if the pricness was a pushover or knew there was some 'hidden good' inside Hans; at least, Kristoff could only hope she'd have that much sense. Judging by their conversations on the way in, it was clear she still wasn't happy with him, and probably wasn't going to forgive him anytime soon.

“Hey! You in there?” Anna's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked to the girl with a startled expression. She merely crossed her arms and gave him a look, her chin held high in a show that somewhere in that klutzy, sheltered girl was a royal figure, after all. And what could a boy raised by trolls do but obey – especially considering she was the first (and so far only) girl he'd fallen in love with?

“Yeah...?” he replied, though he already knew the gist of what she'd ask.

“The Queen has, um, _addressed_ that Arendelle do anything we can to help our, ahem, guest.” Her voice was hesitant and clearly, she wasn't used to it, but he had no room for any arguments – especially with Elsa brought into the equation.

He crossed his arms back at her, mumbling, “I don't think it'll help any, but if Elsa orders me to, I guess I don't have a choice, huh?”

“Kristoff... you have a choice. I just... want to do what we can.”

“But why for _him_?” Though he was right in that Anna would be compassionate and be willing to help Hans, he didn't have to understand why. Hans didn't _deserve_ her kindness.

“Because. Elsa feels responsible for some crazy reason, and I just – I don't want him to die, Kristoff. I may hate him, and would've liked to punch him in the face, but he's hurt, and I can't turn my back on him. I'm not that sort of girl.”

The blond merely raised an eyebrow and gave a small shrug, replying, “Fine, I'll – I'll go see what I can do. But I don't think it'll fix anything.”

“It's fine, it's fine. We'll keep trying. He's our responsibility... at least, until he is fit to travel back home for whatever punishment the Southern Isles have in store for him.”

They both knew the words she didn't dare speak, hanging on the edge of both their tongues as a silence befell them. 

“ _If he makes it.”_

* * *

 

The blackness dragged itself away ever-so-slowly, like the wind gusting through thick fog. It was a sluggish process, hovering Hans's consciousness over him (metaphorically, of course), dangling a way back to earth in front of him, but just out of reach. But he couldn't reach it, not yet; he had to work for it, and push past all obstacles in his way to _jump_.

He couldn't recall what had happened, but he knew it wasn't good. Like before, there was a little voice telling him not to wake up, that sleep was okay. Sleep was comfortable, and provided a sort of artificial warmth about him; though he knew he was colder than the worst winter in the northern terrains, Hans felt comfortable in sleep, and could almost pretend he was bundled up and warm.

It was nice, honestly, and provided escape from the bitter freezing temperatures of the conscious world. If only he could stay like this – he wouldn't have to deal with consequences or pain or anything of the sort. He could remain safe.

As it was, however, he was growing closer and closer to awakening, the clouds and fog beginning to finally clear. A dull pain hit his head, throbbing in the distance like a taunting phantom. For now, however, it was bearable, and Hans shifted his focus. He decided to concentrate on the feeling of something soft was underneath him, as well as the way his heavy body sunk into the material and how something equally as warm and soft was covering him. Enveloped by this warmth, he didn't feel the need to shiver, and next turned his attention to the sounds around him before opening his eyes to see.

Ears perked, he heard a quiet crackling sound – flickers of fire, he guessed – and some muffled voices. Clearly, there were others in the room with him, but he couldn't tell who they were or what they were even _saying_ at first. Words blurred and merged together, making any recognition impossible for now.

With nothing left to feel, hear, nor comprehend, Hans attempted to pry open his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, and it took much of his strength to even do the simple task. He wanted to be able to see just what was going on, and to ask why he was not outside in the cold anymore.

He could remember fractals of what had happened, how it was freezing and now it was not anymore, and how he had assumed he was dying before. Why did he not fear that any longer? Was it because of the warmth? For whatever reason, Hans didn't think he was about to cross over to the other side any longer. It must be the warm sensation around him, comforting him of any of those frightening thoughts.

A soft groan passed through his lips as he finally forced his eyes open, blurry colors and shapes forming before him. Tracking his gaze around sluggishly, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The space were dim, the only source of light sourced from the flames dancing in the fireplace nearby. A fireplace... so he was inside. Upon further inspection, he seemed to be laid out on a couch, many blankets wrapped tightly around his form.

Was there a need for this, though? Wasn't the room warm enough by the fire? Why was the combination of the blankets and fireplace just _perfect_ , and not over-the-top?

It came back to him without warning; Elsa's face first flashed in his mind, a troubled and horrified expression contorting her features as Hans lied about her sister's demise. That's right – he had told her Anna had perished in the castle – in a room that looked very much like this one – and she had fell to the ground in grief. The tundra grew quiet, the winter frozen in place as the once-proud queen broke down in sobs.

She had been so vulnerable; why hadn't Hans's sword collided with her? _What_ , exactly, was the damned _problem_ that prevented him from obtaining his oh-so-deserved throne and subsequent reign?

As he fought against his mind to remember, he attempted to change his view, the blankets shifting with him as he struggled to a sitting position. His head protested, the dull pain becoming more and more tangible; the prince raised a hand to inspect what was causing the sensation when something snapped his wrist back down. His eyes shot down to look at whatever had ensnared him, realizing with alarm that his hands were cuffed together. Confused, he brought both hands up and delicately touched his fingers to the back of his head, realizing there was a bandage wrapped around his skull. 

“What...” he rasped, a perplexed expression settling onto his face. Why was he _handcuffed_? If they had brought him in from outside (assuming his attack on Elsa had failed), how had they even known his plan? It wasn't as if Elsa would have known, and... the other witness to his cruelty was... She'd already died, hadn't she?

“Good morning, sunshine.”

A soft, feminine voice sounded from nearby; Hans twisted his gaze about, examining the room before his eyes fell upon a familiar figure. He had to squint, to make sure that he was seeing this person right, and that it was not some sort of phantom or illusion. But it had to be one of those, for there was no possible way this person could be alive. After all, Hans had been the one who left her for death, hadn't he?

Frowning, the man attempted to clear his vision, willing the specter to get out of his sight. But it persisted, and he shook his head. “No... this isn't possible,” he whispered, looking away from her. “This isn't real. I'm... still dreaming.” That was also a plausible situation, as he had hit his head pretty hard; perhaps he was simply still unconscious, and was having a nightmare?

He shifted, turning his back to the image, and attempted to bury his face in the couch, but the injury made it a bit difficult. Letting out a yelp of surprise as the back of his head hit the hard end of the couch, Hans brought his cuffed hands up to gently touch the wound. Damn! If he was hurt, this couldn't be a dream; he swung his head back and glared at Anna, or whoever that truly was, in resentment.

She had on a devilish expression, her lips curled into a smirk as her eyes narrowed, eyebrows raised in smugness as her arms crossed over her chest. “Oh, I'm very real, Hans,” she replied, a sickeningly sweet tone honeying her words. “In fact, I'm so real, I'm in charge of you at the current time. Funny how things turn around, huh?”

Leaning forward, Anna poked at his forehead, making the truth finally collide with him: this was not a dream, and the princess had somehow survived his assassination attempt. But how...?

“How are you even alive?” he hissed, his voice straining from the misuse and disbelief. “I... I left you to die!”

The girl rolled her eyes, stepping closer to him before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. “I know that, Hans,” she said, plainly, then: “Do you remember anything?”

“ _You can't run from this!”_

Hans blinked, his mind swarming. The thick cloud covering his senses had cleared some, but he couldn't quite remember what had happened. Elsa had been crouched in the snow, her turned body stiff and vulnerable, and her powers temporarily stopped in favor of overwhelming grief. And the prince had watched her, his eyes wide with his lust for power, his chance so close...

His kingdom, his reign, his crown... it all was almost tangible. _Almost_.

“ _Your sister? She returned from the mountain weak and cold.”_

With a frown, Hans fought to remember. Elsa, a sword, some ice, a swing of the sword, and... what? Surely he hadn't killed Elsa? No, he distinctly recalled that not being the case; something had gotten in the way, pushing him back and making him knock his head off the ice. Pain in his skull, blood on his tongue...

“ _She said that you froze her heart!”_

What was it that he was fighting so hard to remember? It danced along in his mind, skirting on the outsides of his memory, taunting him just as his consciousness had done moments before he woke. Why was he so sluggish?! It was as though something had made him forget, something had stolen the memory away from his mind...

His eyes snapped up to glare at Anna. “Did you sister do this?” he asked, crossly, shifting his weight so he could swing his legs over the edge of the couch. The blankets still clung to him (or rather, _he_ clung to _them_ ), making him appear less intimidating as he would have liked, but no matter. This was important – if Elsa had done some sorcery to take the memory away from him, he deserved to know. Hell, even if the ice witch refused to give him answers, he'd merely work his charm and have her arrested for assaulting a _prince_ and nearly killing _her sister_.

Anna's eyes flashed with uncertainty before she murmured, “Did... what, exactly?” As if there was any question as to what had happened; Elsa clearly cast a spell on him. Hans hadn't studied ice magic, of course, but he knew it couldn't be far off from reality. He'd seen how great Elsa's powers were; there was no doubt in his mind.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, wincing as a shiver ran through him. Seemed that with some blankets discarded to the floor, his chill had returned. Huddling as much warmth as possible to himself, he continued to glare at the girl with all the anger and hatred he'd hidden since he arrived at Arendelle.

He could only assume this coldness he felt was merely a result of frost exposure.

“This... memory extraction. I can't remember a thing after I went after your sister with the sword.” Why bother putting on the 'nice guy' act, anyway? Anna knew his true self; sparing him his kindness would provide no benefits to him, and it would simply be _rude_ of a prince to not show the princess what sort of man he was. 

“Really?” Anna tilted her head. “You don't remember _anything_ after that point? Nothing at all? Really?” She scooted closer to him, blue eyes widening with curiosity.

“Yes, _really_ ,” he snapped back, his own eyes narrowing and teeth grinding together in frustration. Honestly, why did he ever choose her for his possible queen? Was it simply because of the lack of no other options? As he had mentioned to her during his reveal, his plan originally was to pursue Elsa. But that was nearly impossible; the Queen obviously wanted no part in romance, as determined by her stiffness to social activity and the closed gates of the castle.

Anna was ditzy, and awkward, and improper – not befitting for royalty, clearly. But Hans needed to marry into the throne, and as it was, the first girl he'd run into (literally) was the princess of Arendelle. He took that as a sign; with that sort of luck, he could only succeed. At least, that's what he had thought and planned for.

The foolish girl still seemed amused by his lack of knowledge, and shook her head. “Elsa's powers don't work that way,” she began, standing up and walking behind the couch, away from the fireplace. Come to think of it, she was hardly dressed appropriately for the weather, and was currently... _fanning_ herself, as if to keep cool.

He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but as a show of her ever-present lack of manners, she interrupted.

“She can't 'extract your memories' or whatever you think she did...”

“With all due respect, _princess_ ,” he spat the words out with more than a hint of venom, “You don't know anything about your sister, as you've mentioned before. I distinctly recall you saying she wouldn't hurt you, and... well.” He merely scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I mean... I don't know the gist of what she can do, yeah, but I'm sure- Wait...” Anna raised an eyebrow and looked at her. “You remember me being hurt by Elsa?” 

Hans nodded. “Of course I do.” How could he forget his crowning moment, so to speak? Anna returning to Arendelle shivering with blue-tinged skin, looking more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her? She was so fragile, and glasslike; Hans knew that if he handled her too roughly, she would be broken into shards. And as he knew all along, he had been correct. He'd left Anna for dead in that room, and put the blame on her sister for her demise.

But ultimately, it was Elsa's fault; Hans wasn't the one that froze her heart. Hans wasn't the one to run away in fear and self-exile, terrified of human civilization. Hans wasn't the one that set off an eternal winter and jeopardized hundreds of lives.

Hans was the good, noble prince in charge of Arendelle while the princess was gone. At least, until the poor girl returned nearly frozen solid. He'd done all he could, but it was too late in the end. He couldn't do a thing.

“ _I tried to save her... but it was too late! Her skin was ice, her hair turned white.”_

At least, that's what he convinced the town of. It was a perfect ruse, really, calculated down to the last detail. And they'd believed them – all of them had fallen into his trap, just has he planned. In the end, with everything executed flawlessly, the only thing left to do was...

_Kill Elsa..._

He'd attempted to slay the queen, stood over her still body with his sword raised, and then... Then something happened to prevent that.

“ _Your sister is dead! Because of **you**!”_

Hans grabbed at his head, a sudden, sharp pain shooting through his skull. Eyes screwing shut, a pained gasp escaped his lips as the feeling of a cold, shooting pressure hit him, carrying memories along with it. The sword was about to pierce Elsa's body, but it ended up hitting something else instead. Something frozen, and solid, and strong enough to push him back against the snow...

_Anna...!_

It was Anna. He let out a yelp at the pain the memory caused him, running a hand through his hair and grabbing for the blankets he had abandoned, the terrible frozen feeling enveloping his body once more. Every exposed part of his skin went numb as he attempted to warm himself, but to little avail.

“I – I- I rememb-ber,” he ground out, his words but a low hiss now. Darkened green eyes met her, carrying almost enough hatred to melt the frost surrounding them outside. “I thought E-Elsa f-froze your heart. But n-... now you're here? How? How'd you survive?”

How did she even survive becoming a _frozen statue_?

Anna just crossed her arms, making a 'hmmph' sound and raising her chin high. “The only frozen heart around here is yours.”

And then, to Hans's surprise, her expression wilted into one of regret, an almost mournful and _saddened_ look crossing her features. Her eyes met the floor, and for a brief moment, her mouth hung open, as though to say something she didn't want to. But after what felt like eternity, her head raised once more and she spoke her next word very quietly, defeat evident in her tone.

“Literally.”


	4. Chapter 4

Really, it hadn't taken Kristoff that long to reach his home, considering how long the trek with Anna up the North Mountain had taken the first time around. Sven was, of course, his travel companion of choice, and being with the reindeer always seemed to make the time slip by quickly. Sven had a way of reading his emotions – just like Kristoff was able to understand what the animal was thinking.

It was the perfect relationship; the two of them were like brothers, and the blond wouldn't have it any other way. Sans the trolls, Kristoff hadn't really had anyone else there for him, and neither had Sven.

Orphaned at a young age, he found a baby Sven being hunted in the woods and threw rocks at the men pursuing him. The hunters were distracted enough to let the reindeer dash away – straight into Kristoff. It seemed destiny was strange like that, bringing them together when they both needed a friend the most. Recalling it made Kristoff smile, and he tended to give Sven the bigger bites of the carrots they shared when it popped into his memory again.

“I can't believe we're doing this, Sven,” he huffed, shaking his head and crossing his arms in disappointment. Anna didn't think, that much was clear – and though he didn't know the girl that well, he knew that she had a way of making people do what she wanted, despite her inexperience at ruling.

The reindeer gave a snort and seemed to give a head tilt that resembled a shrug. Kristoff dove into his deeper 'Sven dubbing' tone immediately, if only to keep himself entertained and give his companion a chance to 'speak'.

“ _But we don't have a choice, do we_?” He groaned in the silly-sounding tongue, giving the animal a scoff and an annoyed look of his own in response to his own words. It was all a very strange scenario for an outsider, he was sure, but Sven had had a voice since he was little; Kristoff just had to provide it for him.

“No, I guess not.”

“ _Because you can't say no to Anna_.”

How dare Sven say that?! Kristoff pursed his lips, almost in a pout, and retorted, “I can say no to her! I am a _strong_ , _independent_ man.”

Another snort followed, and Sven 'replied,' “ _Yeah, sure._ " 

“I mean it, Sven! In fact, I _swear_ , when we get back, I'll tell Anna up front that she does _not_ control what I do, and she'll agree and we'll both come to an understanding on it.”

“ _You have a better chance of Hans surviving this._ ”

The blond froze, as did the reindeer, both of them realizing at the same time that Sven had _not_ been thinking that – that the animal would _never_ think that, he would never take Hans's unfortunate fate as a joke, and what was said was not a true representation of his thoughts.

So... were those _Kristoff's_ thoughts? Had he really been so cut off from humanity he was joking about Hans's inevitable death now? A shiver ran through him, and he knew he couldn't use the cold as an excuse anymore (as it was summer again); no, he was quite certain it was his own dread at his cruel joke.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, more to himself than Sven. “I don't want him to die, exactly, but... I can't see him surviving, you know? And I know that Grand Pabbie will say the same thing he did before...”

Sven 'interrupted'. “ _Only an act of true love will save him_.”

“Yeah, exactly! Jeez, how do you always know what I'm thinking?” the blond asked, giving his friend a sheepish grin. As he stalked up the mountain towards the flattened field just before the hill sloped upwards, Kristoff had a hard time not slipping or stepping through mud, as what was once a frozen tundra was now a wet forest. The blond's boots were slopped with the damp dirt, and he felt... disgusting, really.

Before he could voice Sven's reaction, Kristoff noticed they had made it to the clearing, the defining rocks decorating the plains. He relaxed, instantly, as the presence of his family always did cheer him up. Though sometimes they were... abrasive, the blond always felt safe and at home with them.

“Hey! I'm back,” he announced, realizing the last time he'd seen them, it'd been when they tried to wed him to Anna. His face flushed at the memory; he supposed families were meant to be embarrassing, but really?

And, as if on cue, the stones trembled and rolled forward, pushed by a seemingly unknown force (which, in actuality, was their own will to move), turning upwards just as they reached the man and showing their true identities as trolls.

So many faces stared up at him, a wide variety of expressions – happiness, relief, and for some, traces worry – displayed on their rocky features. Bulda, his adoptive mother, had a bright smile on her face, toddling up to him with her short arms outstretched. 

“Kristoff's home!” she cried, and it was like a trigger; the rest of the trolls cheered and whooped out his name in happiness, scampering up to him to show him what he'd missed (in the day or so since he'd been up here).

“Look, Kristoff! Look at my crystal!”

“How's Anna? Did you kiss her?”

“Did you bring her back to see us?”

“When's the wedding, Kristoff?!”

A few of them jumped onto Sven, stroking his fur. The reindeer grinned and licked them, his rough tongue clearly not bothered by their course 'skin'. The little ones always loved Sven; must be the nature and animal connection. Kristoff crossed his arms and smirked, amused.

Bulda hopped on top of three other trolls to meet his eye level, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them.

“Kristoff! Tell us! What's become of Anna? Is she alright?”

He shook his head to clear it, her actions causing him to be dizzy (hey, she was a _stone_ ), and nodded. “Y-Yeah, Anna's just fine.” 

“I knew it! It was you, wasn't it? Ooooh, I can see it in your eyes, Kristoff!”

He rolled said eyes, quirking an eyebrow. “How 'bout now?” he snorted, sweeping his gaze across the clearing. “Nah, I... I do like her, yeah. Anna's great. She's feisty, and determined, reckless... but pretty adorable...”

Cliff, Kristoff and Sven's 'father,' hopped up to his 'son' and gave him a swift, playful punch in his ankle. Given the troll's hand was made of pure rock, Kristoff flinched and grabbed at his foot, bouncing on one leg in pain.

“Ow! What was that for?” he demanded, huffing. 

His father merely laughed. “Our boy, Kristoff, finally found a lady! Sure, she's a bit of a fixer-upper, but that's no problem! You are, too! And you know what they say...” 

“The only fixer-upper fixer that can fix a fixer-upper is true love!” Bulda finished enthusiastically. 

Kristoff groaned, smacking a hand down his face. Sure, he loved them, but his family was embarrassing – especially with the whole 'fixer-upper' thing. How was _he_ a fixer-upper? They were _trolls_! Rolling his eyes, he retorted, “Look, I _do_ like Anna. And she _is_ going to be fine after what happened. But it wasn't me that healed her in the end, alright?”

“Ah... the fiancée, huh? You didn't get him out of the way?”

The blond scoffed, shaking his head. “About that...”

Quickly, he retold the accounts of the events that happened after he left; how he rode Sven across a frozen tundra to meet Anna after realizing that _he_ could be her true love, and vice versa, how Hans wasn't anything like Anna perceived him to be and attempted to murder both sisters to seize the throne, and how the princess sacrificed herself to save the Queen – only for that to become her act of true love, and thawed out with the rest of the surrounding ice. 

The trolls chattered on after he told the story, curious questions aimed at him all at once.

“How fast did you run?! How cold was it?”

“There's no more winter? I _did_ see it all thaw out...!”

“Hans was a bad guy?”

But one deep voice ran out among the chirps of the tinier trolls. It was Grand Pabbie, making his way to the center of the plain. The rest of the trolls quieted at the sight of the head of the tribe, nodding towards him to speak.

“Kristoff, did I hear correctly? Anna has survived her heart's plague? And it was an act of true love towards Elsa that saved her?”

“Yeah,” the man replied with a nod of his own. “She's better now. The love she has for her sister is strong.” He smiled a little, happy that everything turned out okay in the end.

Well, for most of them. 

Pabbie seemed to sense that something was wrong – or at least, that something was missing. Given that Kristoff had come back to the mountains, perhaps he had realized that if things _were_ okay, he'd probably stay with Anna in the castle? Or maybe it was Kristoff's expression; he couldn't imagine that the grimace he was wearing was particularly comforting of things being alright.

“What's the matter, Kristoff? What is it you need help with?” 

Damn. How'd he always do that? It happened all the time, growing up; every time Kristoff found he had a problem – the ice wasn't selling, Sven was eating the whole carrot and leaving him with nothing, he was growing hair in places (yikes, puberty) – Grand Pabbie always sensed it and asked that same question.

So, like always, the blond sat down in the middle of the clearing, ready to spill his heart out to the troll he considered a grandfather.

“It's... It's that guy. Hans. Anna's fiancée. Er... _ex_ -fiancée now. He's... Ah, I don't even know why I'm telling you this.” Suddenly, Kristoff felt like he was getting cold feet (no sick pun intended). He'd travelled all the way up the mountain, per Anna's request, to ask a troll about a way to treat the spoiled brat prince that was currently bundled up in one of the castle's rooms.

It was weird to take a step back and look at things. 

Anyway, he paused and looked at Pabbie, a hesitant gleam in his eyes. The troll merely shook his head and smiled gently, offering a hand and patting Kristoff on the shoulder. 

“It is alright. You know everything has a solution.”

“Yeah... Yeah, I know the solution already...” the blond sighed, continuing, “Elsa's magic... it pierced him in the heart.”

Pabbie's stony expression grew even more serious, as he seemed to understand the dire situation at hand. “I see...”

“We have him in the castle right now. I don't know if he's awake yet or anything, but... his hair did the thing. The same as Anna's. And I know it'll get worse – soon it'll be completely white, and then he'll freeze over...” 

“Unless an act of true love saves him,” the troll interrupted, giving a nod. “But you do not think this man is capable of loving, or being loved. Is that the problem?”

Kristoff nodded. “Anna sent me up here to ask if you could help.”

“I cannot. You know the heart is difficult to mend. Had it'd been the head...”

“I know, I know. The head can be persuaded.” 

“Very good,” Pabbie replied with a low chuckle. “I knew you were listening when we treated Anna for the first time, when you both were children.”

The man's eyes widened. That was – that had been Anna, all those years ago? He supposed it made sense; not many other children were enchanted like Elsa was, nor had such platinum-blond hair. And not many little girls had a streak of white in their ginger-colored hair, either...

But still! That was... _Anna_? And _Elsa_? And the _King and Queen of Arendelle_?

“Whoa,” he breathed, taken aback from the statement. “Uhh... Well, I – Is there anything that I can tell Anna?”

Pabbie sighed. “I cannot help the man, Kristoff. If his heart truly is frozen, inside and out, then there is no hope for him. It is... merely up to him, now, to decide if that is the case.”

* * *

 

“ _Literally_ frozen?”

Hans's eyes narrowed at her statement, shifting his position on that uncomfortable couch ever-so-slightly. Her words implied something, something definitely beyond a snipe at his cold personality. Hell, it probably wasn't even about how cruel he was to her in the end, how he left her to die and attempted to murder his sister. 

But _literally_? That was impossible, wasn't it?

Unless...

“What do you mean, _literally_?”

His voice was as frosty as his body, and he swore he saw puffs of his breath leave his mouth. Was it really that cold? Then again, Elsa's powers had seized Arendelle, freezing everything in place as she grieved. But it seemed that in the end, there was no need to grieve.

If Anna was here, now, what was it like outside? 

Before listening to or watching the girl for an answer, Hans craned his neck around the back of the couch, grunting pitifully as he shifted his freezing body, attempting to keep as many blankets as he could on him for now. It was probably pathetic-looking, and the prince's pride took a few strikes from the situation, but he had no choice. He had to know – what was the weather like outside? Was it storming with ice whipping about again? Was it completely frozen over? Was the snow even still _there_? 

Why wouldn't it be there? Elsa didn't know how to stop it – she said, back in the dungeon, that she _couldn't_. She didn't know _how_. So for it all to suddenly thaw out didn't make any sense. 

“Hans-” Anna's quiet voice squeaked nearby, slight exasperation and... something else in her tone. But he couldn't place it, nor did he care to at the moment.

“Shut up,” he hissed under his breath in response, wrenching himself to a sitting position and shakily got to his feet. With a few deep breaths, he forced his trembling legs to move, limping over to the window to draw the curtains.

His unstable, cuffed hands latched onto the fabric, and he attempted to pull at it, only to fall to his knees in a huff. Why was he so weak all of a sudden? Had he hit his head _that_ hard?

Tinier hands were on his shoulders, and Hans shivered at the touch; damn it, what was wrong with him? Why wasn't his body moving the way his mind commanded it to? He attempted to stand up once more, nearly falling again but managing to keep his balance long enough to cling to the curtains.

 _Pathetic_ , he hissed to himself. This was what had become of Prince Hans?

Again, Anna's grating voice sounded in the small room, booming at him as the beginnings of a headache closed in on him. “Hans, don't-!” 

“Be _quiet_!”

She flinched, and he immediately felt his mouth open, but no words escaped his lips. Almost instinctively, he was ready to apologize for offending a lady, a princess no less, but in truth, he couldn't care less. It was all fake, just like everything else; he was a desperate prince with a charming face and smooth, honeyed words. Apologizing for making her wince at the volume of his voice wouldn't be practical, given that she knew his true self. Of course, it wasn't like him to yell anyway. It wasn't _princely,_ it wasn't _polite_ , it wasn't _him_. He wasn't a beast, at least. But at the current moment, his mask had cracked; he merely _had_ to reach the outside, to _see_ what was going on, and nothing was about to stop him – not even his own pride or composure. With another deep sigh, he shoved the fabric away, taking a long look out at Arendelle. 

It was... colorful.

Green, and yellow, and red, and so many colors – so many colors that _weren't white_. There was no white, none whatsoever; the ships were not frozen in place, but sailing across the deep cerulean water. Children danced in the streets, grasping flowers with petals of gold in their tiny fingers. Mothers watched them play, discarding the long cloak Hans had given them when things were frozen over to reveal bright purple dresses. So many happy faces, so bright and full of such life – Hans had nearly forgotten what Arendelle looked like when he first arrived. 

It was just so... overwhelmingly inviting. Dogs barked, people laughed, couples kissed, children giggled.

Everything was alive again.

That brought a problem, of course; if the kingdom had been thawed out, if Elsa had managed to figure out how to do it herself, and if everything was warm again... Why was he still so cold? Why was he locked in a room with handcuffs and blankets and a fire, instead of being put on a ship back to the Southern Isles to await trial?

“Love thawed Elsa's winter,” Anna explained, giving a warm, gentle gaze towards her kingdom outside.

Hans screwed his eyes shut for a moment, unable to believe any of this. Arendelle was saved by someone other than the brave prince. Hans's plans went up in flames – or, in ice in this case – and he was now seen as a villain rather than the hero he wanted to be. 

And to make matters worse, he couldn't stop _shivering_. 

“A-Anna...” he heard himself mumble, “What happened to me?” His voice sounded so unbearably unlike him, so quiet and hoarse, that if he hadn't seen his lips move in his reflection in the window, he wouldn't have thought he'd even said it. 

The girl silently approached him, her reflection showing nearby, staring back directly at him, but not catching his gaze (perhaps on purpose).

“Hans...” Mirror-Anna's mouth moved, and he finally noticed how unsure her expression was. Eyebrows scrunched and lips pressed together into a thin line, her eyes darted about, avoiding his at all costs. “Hans, you were shot with Elsa's magic. Through your heart.” 

For a moment, he swore he hadn't heard her correctly. He blinked, narrowed green eyes muddied with confusion, as his lips drew open to allow a question through. However, no such question came, and he closed his mouth once more, thinking it over.

It just seemed so... preposterous to him. Of course, in actuality, it made perfect sense – he was freezing in this warmed room (in _summer_ , no less), he'd been numb for so long laying on that ice, and Anna looked so hesitant to tell him the truth. 

Though it made sense, he couldn't believe it, merely because he didn't _want_ to.

“No, that's...” he stammered, mouth agape once more, “That can't be possible! When you froze over, I was just... pushed backwards. By some force, I don't know – I remember that, though.”

“Y-... yes, you were sent backwards. But it was Elsa's magic, and it pierced your hear-” 

He scoffed, shaking his head. This was ridiculous. He must have a fever, nothing more – it was because of being on the ice for so long. “And you were there to witness it, I suppose? I didn't realize you were able to _see_ as a solid piece of ice, Anna.” 

She shook her head. “No, Hans. I didn't see it. But...” Her hand instantly went up to one of her braids, twirling the strands of hair between her index finger and thumb, humming to herself in thought. For the longest while, she simply stared at the ginger strands, almost as if she wasn't used to them being there.

He stood in that spot by the window, albeit leaning heavily on the curtains, waiting for her to continue.

Finally, her gaze snapped back up to him and the only explanation for her long silence she had was, “I wasn't kissed by a troll.”

... _What_? 

He blinked, his own features twisting in confusion. What was she talking about?

“Don't you remember?” The girl's gaze fell once more, her hand crossing over her body to clutch at her other arm. A very nervous position, Hans noted – and he knew a lot about body language (as his had to be perfect and ideal for the situation at all times). “In the garden.”

Hans merely rolled his eyes. “If you think what I said to you back then was genuine, I assure you, it was-”

“That's not it!” she practically yelled, crossing her arms and glaring towards him. “Honestly, not everything is about _you_!”

...now _that_ was a laugh. Nothing had ever been about him. All his life, it had been about his older brothers. The Southern Isles was _their_ kingdom, not his. Nothing was his – it would never be his, no matter how much he wished. He would not be heard or given what he wanted, so he needed to seize things for himself. 

But he wouldn't even grace her with a response; frankly, she didn't deserve one. If she thought that sort of talk was going to unsettle him, or at least make him regret snarking at her in the first place, she would be sadly mistaken.

In any case, he continued, “I still don't know what you're talking about.”

With a very un-princess-like groan, she replied, “In the garden! You said you liked my hair streak... thing. The white? And I said I was born with it, that I dreamt I'd been kissed by a troll. How can you not remember that? Did you hit your head or something?"

Narrowing his eyes, he snapped, “Yes.” Honestly, how ignorant could she be? With her sloppy routines and choice of words, he knew she wasn't meant for the throne from the moment he saw her, but he figured he'd be able to control Arendelle as King and have the Queen fade quietly into the background.

But even she seemed to realize she'd said something insensitive, for her eyes widened. “O-oh. Oh, gosh, that's right... You did, huh?”

Obviously. But he merely nodded, indicating for her to continue.

Brushing a braid behind her ear, she murmured, “Well... That streak isn't here anymore, as you can see. I was healed by an act of true love. I sacrificed myself for Elsa because I love her.”

Ah, yes. Love. Hans was the first intended initiator of 'true love,' but had stopped short of kissing her in the end. And who could blame him? It wouldn't have worked, anyway; why give false hope to the poor, dying girl any longer than he needed to? He may have used her from the start, but even that seemed a little cruel to taunt someone who was about to perish.

Hans had more manners than _that_.

Anyway, he quirked a brow and replied, “So what does your hair have to do with what happened to me?”

Anna chewed on her bottom lip nervously, raising an arm to tap her fingers against the glass of the window they were both gazing out of. “Look,” she whispered, the same damn pity in those blue irises as he'd seen earlier. “Look at your reflection.”

“What?” He'd seen it before, of course – he didn't look the best, clearly, with his ragged clothes covered with overlapping blankets and his eyes sunken in from possible exhaustion and the sickness he was certain he had. But besides those, and the way his expression seemed so pitiful, what else was concerning?

And then, after much too long, he noticed the streak of white in his hair, and it all connected at once.

“ _Her skin was ice, her hair turned white...”_

“ _You froze her heart!”_

The backlash of the clarity was too much; his legs crumbled under him instantly, and he registered how strangely _warm_ the floor was as his world went black.


End file.
